


Nails for Breakfast, Tacks for Snacks

by faequeentitania



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: BDSM, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode: s04e11 The Fifth Stage, Hate Sex, M/M, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-16
Updated: 2009-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-11 01:15:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/472837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faequeentitania/pseuds/faequeentitania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Peter's confrontation with Sylar isn't going exactly as planned, Peter takes things way off the beaten track...</p><p>A "could have" for "The Fifth Stage".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nails for Breakfast, Tacks for Snacks

**Author's Note:**

> The BDSM theme that ran rampant through the Sylar/Peter nail gun thing in The Fifth Stage inspired me to write not only my first ever Heroes fanfiction, but by first ever Petlar at that. How things could have happened...

The sound of the nail gun echoed loudly in the darkened room.  The only other sounds Peter could hear were Sylar's breathy whines of pain and his own panting breath as his heartbeat pounded in his ears.  
  
"Hurts, doesn't it?" Peter said coldly, looking down at Sylar's vulnerable body with twisted satisfaction, "No healing power..."  
  
Sylar glared up at him with a mixture of shock and fear.  Peter leaned back on his haunches and pressed the nail gun into Sylar thigh.  
  
Pffffft!  
  
The whirl of the air pressure and satisfying thunk of the nail sinking into flesh.  
  
Sylar screamed, and the sound of it sent a surge of power through him.  Peter watched him tighten with pain, pinned to the board like a moth on display mat, and in a frightening flash of understanding, he realized why Sylar would get off on this; this absolute power.  To be utterly dominant, to have complete control and knowing your victim doesn't stand a chance of escape or relief unless it comes from you...  
  
“Oh God…” Sylar panted in a high whine, “What do you want?”  
  
“I want to make a deal,” Peter practically purred, “I’ll let up, I’ll let you heal.  But you give me Nathan.  You give him back to me, body and soul.”  
  
Sylar gave a course laugh, leaning up as far as the nails would allow, growling, “That sounds like a pretty one sided deal to me.”  
  
“It is,” Peter acknowledged, “So what’s it going to be?”  
  
He pulled the nail gun up to hover at Sylar’s temple.  Sylar’s eyes flicked from his face, to the gun, and back again.  Peter felt the sickening, twisted pleasure of seeing a flash of fear flare in Sylar’s eyes. __  
  
Take that karma you son of a bitch, Peter thought fiercely, _Now you know what every single person felt when you did this to them._  
  
Sylar hesitated a moment too long.  Peter pressed the nail gun back to his thigh again and pulled the trigger.  
  
A second scream tore from Sylar’s throat and another rush of power pulsed through him.  In an instant the power turned bitter as Sylar’s scream changed to a sickening laugh.  
  
“You’re going to need a lot more nails in that thing,” he growled, leaning up again to get in Peter’s face.  
  
Sylar’s breath panted hot with his as Peter seethed silently.  Sylar grinned wickedly, knowing the tables were turning in his favor.  
  
Peter suddenly growled and smashed his lips against Sylar’s.  
  
“Mmf!” Sylar grunted in shock, lips still and unmoving for a few long moments.  
  
Suddenly he surged upward into the kiss, mouth opening in invitation as his tongue snaked out to demand entrance at the seam of Peter’s lips.  
  
Peter panted a breathless sound as he complied, their tongues dueling and battling for dominance over each other savagely as their breath mingled warmly between them.  
  
Peter laid down over him, one hand trailing firmly down his side as the other bore his weight, elbow leaning on the hard board beside Sylar’s head painfully.  
  
Sylar canted his hips up into Peter’s, a hard grind of his pelvic bone against Peter’s hardening length and Peter groaned as he ground back.  
  
He bit Sylar’s already split lip and Sylar jerked with a sharp gasp and a moan.  Peter licked at it soothingly, tasting the warm copper of his blood in their kiss.  
  
Suddenly Sylar jerked away with a pained sound.  He turned his head to look at one of his pinned hands with a breathy whine as Peter attacked his now exposed neck with his lips and teeth and tongue.  
  
“Let me heal,” Sylar whispered between pants of pleasure at Peter’s ministrations.  
  
“No,” Peter murmured into his neck before worrying a spot of flesh between his teeth, making Sylar groan and writhe.  
  
“Please,” he begged.  
  
“No,” Peter said again, trailing the tip of his tongue up his neck to his earlobe and biting sharply.  He watched with heated satisfaction as Sylar’s eyes practically rolled back in his head with a strained moan, “I think I like you exactly where you are.”  
  
Sylar trembled, looking up at him with heated eyes, pupils blown wide with lust.  
  
“Yeah…” Peter said thoughtfully, running his hand down Sylar’s side again before slipping it between them.  He gasped as Peter palmed the outline of his cock through his pants, fingers tracing around the hard bulge delicately, teasingly, “I like having you exactly where I want you for a change.”  
  
Sylar groaned low in his throat.  
  
“I hate you.”  
  
“Good.  Than the feeling’s mutual,” Peter replied even as he started unbuckling both their trousers.  
  
“Fuck,” Sylar groaned as Peter took them both in hand tightly and pumped with hard, firm strokes.  
  
Peter moaned at the feel of Sylar’s cock rubbing delicious friction against his.  He tilted his head up to capture Sylar’s lips in a kiss again and Sylar bit none-too-gently at his tongue.  
  
Peter growled and buried his fingers into Sylar’s thick hair and pulled sharply while pressing the edge of his nails into Sylar’s shaft in warning.  
  
Sylar grunted in pain and glared fiercely up at Peter.  
  
“I’ll kill you,” he promised hoarsely.  
  
“You’ll try,” Peter replied.  
  
Sylar opened his mouth to reply, but Peter chose that moment to rub his thumb over the head of Sylar’s cock, spreading the bead of pre-come that had formed there.  Sylar’s eyes fluttered closed and his head thunked back against the board as a shuttering groan escaped him instead, hips jerking up into the touch almost frantically.  
  
Peter took the opportunity to nip and suck at Sylar’s throat again as his movements started to become erratic, jerky.  
  
“Fuck fuck fuck…” Peter panted, and with a twist of his wrist his whole body tightened, trembling as his come spurted hot into his palm.  
  
Sylar jerked his hips as Peter’s hot come gushed over his cock, pushing him over the edge after Peter with a hard grunt.  
  
The only sound in the echoing silence was their heavy breathing as they lay boneless and limp in the afterglow.  Peter’s head rested against Sylar’s collar bone as their combined release began to cool in his hand.  
  
He finally found the strength to pull away, sitting back on his haunches.  He carefully pulled off his blue paramedic shirt, then his white undershirt.  He used the white undershirt to wipe off his hand and cock methodically.  
  
He could feel Sylar’s eyes on him as he cleaned himself up, brown eyes seeming to pierce through him.  
  
He purposefully avoided Sylar’s gaze, even as he cleaned up the killer as well and carefully fixed their clothes.  
  
“This doesn’t change anything,” Peter said as he pulled the paramedic shirt back over his head, “You’re still going to give me Nathan.”  
  
Sylar just gave a humorless laugh and shook his head slightly back and forth; looking up at the dark ceiling while Peter threw his now-soiled undershirt into a shadowed corner of the room.  
  
“Good luck with that,” Sylar quipped tauntingly, “You’re going to need more tricks up your sleeve than brute force and a good fuck Peter.”  
  
Peter growled and landed three rapid-fire punches to Sylar’s jaw, snapping his head back and forth with the force.  
  
“That’s fine,” Peter growled, pressing his palm to Sylar’s forehead and twining his fingers back in that thick brown hair.  It was for a different reason now.  
  
“I’ll just take away everything that’s you,” he promised darkly, “until Nathan is the only one left.”  
  
“I would love,” Sylar purred through his re-bloodied lip, “to see you try.”  
  
Peter slipped his eyes closed as he let the power uncoil, pushing into Sylar’s mind roughly and pulling anything and everything he could from the killer’s mind.  He felt a second presence, something that felt different from Sylar’s chaotic thoughts.  
  
_Nathan!_ his heart leapt in hope.  
  
“Come on Nathan, I know you’re in there!” he exclaimed.  
  
Sylar pressed up into his hand, choking out hard breaths as Peter pulled through his thoughts.  He could feel himself slipping away…  
  
“Go ahead… _Kill me!_ ” he challenged hoarsely in a half-shout.  
  
“Come on, I can’t do this alone!” Peter panted when suddenly Sylar’s mind fought back in a panic, his body jerking even as the combined efforts of Peter and Nathan fought him from the inside.  
  
“Please!” Peter finally begged and suddenly it felt like something snapped between them.  Sylar gasped and went still, head falling back against the board dully.  
  
Peter gasped and stared astonishingly as he finally felt Nathan pulling to the surface.  He pulled his hand back and reined in his power to let the shift take place before his wide eyes.  
  
The planes and angles of Sylar’s face began to ripple and shift as he watched the killer disappear and his brother take his place.  
  
Finally, Nathan’s eyes fluttered open and he gasped and looked startledly around him.  
  
“Pete…” he whispered with the barest of smiles.  
  
“Is that really you?” Peter asked gently.  
  
“Yeah…” Nathan breathed, his smile widening slightly.  
  
Suddenly it was as if all the tension in his body was suddenly loosened, and he smiled with a small, astonished laugh as he leaned over to pull the nails from Nathan’s hands.  
  
They had done it.  They had won.

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously, whoever has seen "The Fifth Stage" knows that this doesn’t turn out to be quite the victory Peter hoped…


End file.
